


All The Useless Things These Hands Have Done

by Spatzi_Schatz



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 90s Appropriate Homophobia, 90s Identity Politics, 90s aesthetic, Abuse-Survivor Lotor, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Feels, Bathroom Sex, Blow Jobs, Bosnian Genocide, Cruising, Dealing With Trauma, Did I mention its the 90s?, Gulf War, Iraq Conflict, It's the 90s, Keith (Voltron) has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Lapdance, M/M, Military Backstory, Mirror Sex, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Pole Dancing, Praise Kink, Refugee Axca, Refugee Ezor, Refugee Zethrid, Rimming, San Francisco, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Work, Sex Worker Keith (Voltron), Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Support Groups, Survival Sex Work, Survivor Leifsdottir, U.S. Military, Veterans, bottom!Keith, lgbt community, mention of rape, modern-ish AU, pretty much everyone has PTSD, switch!Shiro, switch!keith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-19 10:10:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22309375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spatzi_Schatz/pseuds/Spatzi_Schatz
Summary: Keith made a promise, and Keith keeps his promises, come Hell or high water. Especially promises to those he cares about. So here he is, sitting in a PTSD support group, across from a face from his past he never expected to see again. Luckily, Takashi Shirogane doesn’t remember him. Unluckily, Keith can’t seem to break himself from Shiro’s orbit. Keith usually has no problem running at the first sign of danger, and being with Shiro screams danger. Keith knows it’s not a matter ofif, butwhen, this fragile new life he’s built will come tumbling down.Shiro thought he was doing pretty good for being six years post-discharge. He has a good job working with the Holts, he’s active in his community and helps run a PTSD support group at the local LGBT center. He’s happy with what he’s been able to build since "The Incident." That’s of course until Keith comes stumbling into his life, quite literally. Keith brings a sense of adventure that Shiro didn’t realize he’d lost. A “bad boy” with a heart of gold, Keith clearly has secrets he’s not ready to share, but whatever it is, Shiro’s confident their budding relationship can handle it. Shiro should know better than to tempt fate.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Keith/Thace (Voltron), Thace/Ulaz (Voltron), past Adam/Shiro (Voltron) - Relationship
Comments: 5
Kudos: 54
Collections: Sheith Big Bang 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my piece for this year's [Sheith Big Bang](https://sheithbigbang.tumblr.com/) with my lovely partner [@Shadowkeith](https://twitter.com/the_shadowking)! 
> 
> Check out their piece [HERE](https://twitter.com/the_shadowking/status/1218986764699828224?s=20). 
> 
> Heed the tags and buckle up. It's gonna get worse before it gets better... 
> 
> (You can also check out my playlists for this work for both [Keith](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0BG4ToaBbGpZSPJndrDYX0?si=Ba54BkedQbad9Hv01gVF7A) and [Shiro](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0oKQ5iFsXMbWIHUXg8MexT?si=OuvIdZrgTTivDWnyQUbh2w).

What with its shitty coffee and weather, Seattle isn’t the worst place for him to wash up, but it’s pretty damn close. But literal beggars can’t be choosers. As soon as the ship is safely docked and the inspection and processing completed, Keith collects his last paycheck and leaves for shore without looking back. It’s only a few miles to the bus depot, but he’s in no rush. There’s nowhere for him to be, no one waiting for him. But he knows he doesn’t want to be stuck in Seattle for the rest of his life, that’s for fucking sure. 

He finds a sketchy convenience store that’ll cash his check without a bank-account (for a handling fee, of course) and buys the essentials to get him to the next place: a loaf of bread and a small jar of peanut butter; a large water bottle; a couple packages of trail mix; a travel atlas; and a cheaply-made paperback novel. Supplies cost him $46.19. When he gets to the bus depot, he gets the cheapest ticket on the soonest bus to the next viable city. The ticket is $67.47 after fees. He’s down to his last $200 liquid. It won’t last him long, but it’ll do for now. He settles his backpack safely between his feet and waits for the bus. San Fransicso, here he comes. 

All and all, San Francisco's not bad. The weather’s tolerable. Even now that he’s found a place to stay, he can walk most places and the public transit isn’t the worst he’s ever seen. He’s been able to build up a small network both in Chinatown and The Castro and their surrounding neighborhoods. He’s getting by well enough. Keith takes a sip from the beer in front of him and focuses again on the task at hand, letting his gaze wander around the bar. As usual, the bar isn’t what one would consider “jumping,” but honestly Keith prefers to cruise the older crowd: even if they aren’t anything higher than a five or six, they’re more polite, better tippers, and don’t try to pay him in shitty drugs or useless favors. When he plays his cards right, sometimes he can get coffee or breakfast and a couple “dates” out of them too. 

He’s on the last sips of his pint when the bartender comes over with a fresh one. Keith lifts an eyebrow, but isn’t surprised when the bartender nods toward an older man at the other end of the bar. He’s tall, probably near six-foot-six and 220 pounds, in shape enough from what Keith can see of his arms and shoulders in a “cool-dad” t-shirt and denim jacket combo. He’s got brown aviators perched on top of his very meticulously-styled hair. He’s decent, despite the 70s sideburns he’s got going on. When Keith catches his eye and lifts the new drink, the man grins and nods back, but doesn’t get up and continues to let Keith watch without any sort of sense of commitment. 

Like Keith said, polite.

He finishes the last of his old drink and sets his money down before picking up the fresh one and making his way over to the other man. 

“Hey,” Keith says, sliding into an open seat next to the man. “Thanks for the drink.” 

“No problem,” he replies, turning in his seat a little to face Keith. “Thace.” 

“Keith,” he responds, taking Thace’s offered hand. His handshake is firm, but not aggressive. His clothes are clean. Two more marks in his favor. He glances at the bartender behind his glass as he takes another sip and gets the neutral hand signal. Good enough for Keith. “Drinking alone tonight?” 

Thace grins. “Not anymore.” 

Keith smirks; he likes cocky. “Cheers.” He touches his glass to Thace’s and they both drink. 

They make small talk, mostly about Thace. Keith listens politely, makes the right inquiring noises at the right times, files pertinent information away for later, drinks on Thace’s tab. Neither of them are hammered, but they sway into closer orbit. Thace is a surprisingly good conversation partner: quick-witted and funny, charming even. His arm migrates to around Keith’s waist; Keith smiles sweetly and leans on his shoulder, looking up at him through his eyelashes. 

Around midnight, Keith turns into Thace’s neck. “Want to get out of here?” he asks lowly. 

Thace glances down at him and presses a kiss into the hair at his temple. “How much?” he murmurs. 

Keith’s smile curls up a little. He shrugs. “Depends. I’m flexible.” 

Thace snorts. “Yeah, I bet you are,” he mutters. 

Keith smirks, but doesn’t argue. He looks Thace up and down. “You can handle it still, I’m sure.” 

Thace snorts again, but closes their tab before standing, arm still around Keith. 

“I know a place nearby. It’s safe and clean. How much for the night?” 

Keith gives him a number, and Thace agrees without a second thought. They get a room easily enough, but Keith holds Thace’s hand even after they’re out of sight of the front desk and safely ensconced in the elevator. Once Thace has the room’s door open, he easily pulls Keith into the circle of his arms and kisses him. Keith lets him. 

Keith backs them up until Thace hits the edge of the bed with his shins and Keith pushes him down. He steps back enough to strip out of his tight tee, dropping it on the floor without pretense. He starts to gather his hair in a messy bun, but Thace reaches for his wrist. 

“Leave it down.” 

Keith snorts. “You’re paying for my salon trip in the morning then.” 

“Deal.” 

Keith smirks and saunters forward, settling himself in Thace’s lap. Running his fingers through Thace’s hair, he plucks the sunglasses off his head and sets them down on the nightstand. “Any other requests?” 

Thace squeezes his hips. “Any objections to me fucking you into the mattress?” 

Keith hums, sliding his hand down to rub his palm against the growing erection in Thace’s jeans. He grins at Thace’s sharp inhale. “None whatsoever,” Keith purrs, before leaning in to suck on Thace’s lower lip and tease it between his teeth. 

They share a few hungry kisses before Keith pulls back enough to turn in Thace’s lap. He bends down to undo the laces of his boots; knows he’s showing off the long lines of his back, as Thace runs his hands over his thighs and kisses the knobs of his spine. He sets the boots near the nightstand and peels off his socks before he feels Thace’s arms snake around his middle. Thace telegraphs his movements enough that Keith knows it’s coming, but he still lets out a surprised laugh when Thace hauls him off his feet and tosses him onto the bed. Thace crawls over him, caging him in. Keith runs his fingers appreciatively over Thace’s arms. 

“Good to know these aren’t just for show,” he says, grinning. 

Thace chuckles. His voice is low and deep, smoky yet smooth in the same way as good whiskey. Keith is pleased with his choice.

“Glad they meet with your approval.” 

Keith looks up to meet Thace’s dark gaze. “Lots meets with my approval,” he replies. He reaches up to tug Thace into another kiss, tilting his chin up and opening his mouth to the older man’s tongue. 

Thace’s pupils have blown wide when they break apart. “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs. “You know that though, don’t you?” 

Keith smirks, arching his hips up against Thace’s. “I can always bear to hear it again.” 

Thace grins against his collarbone, leaving a smattering of affection. “You’re beautiful. So beautiful. Anyone should count themselves lucky to gain your attention.” 

Keith grinds his hips up against Thace’s, a moan falling from his mouth when Thace bucks back against him. “And what will you do to keep my attention?” he asks. “You gonna take care of me, Daddy?” 

“I would if you let me,” Thace replies, gripping at Keith’s hip, keeping his back arched and his hips tight against Thace’s.

Keith lets his lip catch on his teeth. “That could be arranged,” he breathes. “Show me.” 

Thace grins. “With pleasure.” 

Later, after the sweat has cooled and they’ve cleaned up, lounging in bed and smoking, Keith traces his fingers through Thace’s chest hair and along the edges of the dog tags settled there. 

“Yours?” he asks. 

Thace glances down at him, combing his fingers through his hair. “Yeah.” 

“Army?” 

“Marines.” 

Keith hums. He continues to trace absent patterns against Thace’s skin. “Which war?” 

Thace sighs out a breath of smoke. “The pointless one.” 

In response, Keith nuzzles into Thace’s shoulder, leaving a smattering of kisses there. 

“Aren’t they all…?” he murmurs into the skin. If Thace hears him, he doesn’t answer. Keith shuts his eyes and counts breaths until he manages to doze off. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my piece for this year's [Sheith Big Bang](https://sheithbigbang.tumblr.com/) with my lovely partner [@Shadowkeith](https://twitter.com/the_shadowking)! 
> 
> Check out their piece [HERE](https://twitter.com/the_shadowking/status/1218986764699828224?s=20). 
> 
> Heed the tags and buckle up. It's gonna get worse before it gets better... 
> 
> (You can also check out my playlists for this work for both [Keith](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0BG4ToaBbGpZSPJndrDYX0?si=Ba54BkedQbad9Hv01gVF7A) and [Shiro](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0oKQ5iFsXMbWIHUXg8MexT?si=OuvIdZrgTTivDWnyQUbh2w).

**Ten Months Later.**

As Shiro finishes setting up chairs in the usual semi-circle in the rec room, he hears Rizavi’s boisterous laughter from the front of the Center. Ryner is still fussing with the relic of a coffee pot and setting out the mis-matched ceramic mugs she insists on using instead of the cheap styrofoam cups most groups would use. Shiro can’t really bring himself to mind the extra dishes it causes at the end of their group. The feeling of ceramic under the fingers of his still-flesh hand is grounding, especially on days where they get into it more than normal. 

“I’ll go open the door,” Shiro tells her, and the older woman perks up. 

“Oh, yes. It’s almost time, isn’t it?” she says. “Go ahead and let everyone in. I just need to get my notebook.” 

She heads back to her office as Shiro walks into the front office. As he expected, Rizavi is sitting on the front desk, swinging her legs as she chats with her girlfriend and a few other people who are loitering around The Castro LGBT Center. Shiro waves to the few he recognizes as he joins them for a few minutes. They’re mostly chatting about nothing, schoolwork and gossip and weekend plans: the typical banter of college kids. Listening to them, Shiro can’t help but feel a million years older than he actually is, but in a good way. He’s happy these kids get to have some semi-balance of a normal college and young adult experience, some of them in spite of what they’ve been through. He looks to Leifsdottir, and tries to catch the glance of the woman who most recently joined them--Axca, he thinks her name is?--before interrupting. 

“We’re ready whenever you guys are if you wanna head back.” 

Rizavi looks over at him before turning her attention back to Leifsdottir. She presses her nose to her girlfriend’s cheek gently before letting her go from the circle of her arms. Leifsdottir, Axca, and Lotor all follow Shiro into the rec room and settle into their usual places after only mild scuffling at the coffee and snack table. Ryner beams at them all as they settle in. 

“Are we ready to begin then?” 

Before anyone can answer, the door opens again and someone steps inside, freezing in the doorway as they all turn back to look. He looks like the typical college student that comes to hang out at the Center: ripped and faded black jeans tucked into Doc Martens and a ratty t-shirt under a black leather jacket, his messy black hair pulled back in a low tail. A motorcycle helmet dangles from his long fingers. 

Shiro puts on his best apologetic smile as he half-rises. “Hi, we’re using the room for support right now. We’ll be done in a couple hours.” 

The man’s dark eyes immediately move toward his voice, and his face flickers through several emotions at once, immediately pinging against Shiro’s instincts. His guts says that this stranger probably recognizes him. 

“Um, yeah… I’m here for support?” His inflection tilts up at the end like a question. “I got your info from the VA.”

Shiro listed their support group with the local VA hospital almost a year ago in a fit of over-ambitious altruism. After, he wasn’t not so sure he wanted another vet in group with them. Since so much time had passed and no one joined, Shiro thought maybe the VA had just lost the information, or maybe they never listed the group in the first place. Don’t ask, don’t tell, and all. Guess he was wrong. 

Ryner, unaware of Shiro’s inner conflict, smiles at the newcomer and gestures to where the folding chairs are stacked against the wall. “You’re just in time,” she says. “Grab a chair and join us.” 

The stranger ducks his head and mumbles something Shiro doesn’t catch, carefully avoiding looking at him, as he goes to get a chair. To his right, Lotor hums the opening rifts of “another one bites the dust,” and Axca stifles a snort of laughter. 

The stranger asks Leifsdottir if he can sit next to her and they all scoot their chairs to make room. As they’re all settling again, the stranger sets his helmet down beside his chair and stretches his legs out in front of him. Shiro’s hindbrain helpfully notes that he has legs that go on for miles. He shakes the thought away: _Not the time or place, brain._ Ryner pulls his attention back when she starts speaking again. 

“Since we have someone new joining us, I think it would be a good idea to go around and introduce ourselves and share a little bit about why we’re here,” she says. “Axca, are you comfortable going first?” 

Axca’s bob comes untucked and hides her face when she nods. “Ah. I am Axca, and I came to the United States as a refugee.” She tucks her hair back behind her ear but doesn’t look at anyone really as she continues. “I… saw a lot of terrible things in my home country, and I am still trying to sort out all my feelings. Especially what was real and what is just a nightmare.” She ducks her head and curls her fingers in her lap. Next to her, Lotor takes her hand into his lap and strokes it. 

“Thank you, Axca,” Ryner says. “Lotor?” 

Lotor sighs and lounges back, “I’m Lotor, and I’m not really sure why I’m here except for that I’m Axca’s ride.” He bats Axca away when she tries to elbow him and sighs again dramatically, rolling his eyes for extra effect. “Fine. I have daddy issues... and mommy issues, and just a lot of issues in general, I guess.” 

Ryner smiles placidly at Lotor. “Thank you for being honest with us, Lotor,” she says, before turning her attention to Shiro. 

Shiro clears his throat. “My name’s Takashi, but please, call me Shiro,” he starts. “I was serving in the Gulf when my plane crashed behind enemy lines. I was assumed KIA until the POW camp where I was held was liberated.” He clears his throat again and flexes his metal fingers reflexively. “That was almost five years ago. Most days are good now, but I still come to support because it helps to keep me grounded and moving forward. And, I hope that I can help you guys with what you’re going through, even if it’s not all quite the same.” 

Ryner beams at him before looking to the newcomer on her right. “Shiro is co-mediator of the group. He helped to found this group, and he’s been here since the beginning,” she says, the pride evident in her voice. Shiro can feel his face heating, especially when her hears Lotor snicker and mutter something to Axca in their native tongue. Thankfully, they move on after that. 

“Ina Leifsdottir,” the young blond woman next to Shiro says, looking straight ahead. She always speaks as if she’s giving a report, objective and dispassionate. “It has been two years, four months, and seventeen days since my assault. Rizavi says that support groups are a good way to connect to others like me and help me to process what happened.” 

Ryner smiles at Leifsdottir, even though the young woman won’t meet her gaze. “And what do you think, Ina?” 

Leifsdottir pauses. “I think… more data is always a good thing.” 

Ryner nods before she turns her smile on the newcomer, who squirms a little and slouches, crossing his arms. 

“Uh, I’m Keith and I have PTSD?” 

Shiro shoots Lotor a look when the young man snorts. Ryner either doesn’t hear or pretends not to. All of her attention is on their newest group member. 

“We are all here to support one another with something traumatic that has happened to us,” she says. “But why are _you_ here? What made you join us today, Keith?” 

Keith is quiet for long enough Shiro thinks he might not answer, but then he mumbles, “Because I promised.” 

“Promised whom?” Ryner prompts him. 

Keith sighs and sits up. His dark eyes, not brown like Shiro had assumed but a deep blue-indigo, have a sharp edge of determination in them. “I promised my sister, before I deployed, that… if I ever needed help, I’d reach out. This is probably not quite what she meant,” he says, shrugging and self-deprecating, before slouching again. “But that’s why I’m here, because I promised.” 

“Thank you for sharing that with us, Keith,” Ryner says. “And welcome to our group.” 

After introductions, since they don’t have a topic, they open the floor to anyone who has successes to report or issues they’d like to discuss. Axca reports that she’s filled out several more job applications and she’s considering taking courses at the community college, but she worries her English isn’t good enough yet. Lotor reports that he successfully did not fall for one of his father’s verbal traps, and though he tries to hustle attention off himself after, they spend quite a bit of time breaking down the interaction with him, offering reassurance that he did the right thing and strategies to help cope with future incidents. 

Their newest member is fairly quiet, passing his turn up when the circle comes around to him. But he listens actively and watches, his violet eyes sharp as the conversation moves around the room. 

They close as they always do with goals for the week. When it comes around to Keith, he tries to pass again, but Ryner stops him. 

“I know you’ve just joined us, Keith. But I’d love to see you set goals with us. It doesn’t have to be anything life-altering. Something small to start is great.” 

Keith fidgets in his seat, looking down at his hands. “I... uh, I don’t know... I don’t really have anything.” 

“May I suggest something then?” Ryner asks. 

Keith shrugs his assent. 

“How about you aim to bring something to share for group next week. It doesn’t have to be about why you’re here, but maybe something to help us get to know you a little better. Or something good that happens during the week.” 

Keith studies her for a long time while Ryner just smiles before eventually nodding. 

“Yeah... alright.” 

They close out and everyone helps to put the chairs away before they slowly break up. Shiro follows their newest member to the refreshment table, coming up next to him as he pours himself a cup of coffee. 

Shiro smiles. “So, with the first session under your belt, what’s the verdict? Think you’ll be back next week?” he asks. 

“Dunno,” Keith says, but Shiro can see amusement in the corner of his mouth. “But I didn’t have the urge to punch anyone, so that’s a mark in your favor.” 

Shiro grins more. “Wow, not even Lotor?” 

Keith grins back. “Nah, he talks big, but it’s all in self-defense I’d be willing to bet. Not really a punching offense, at least in my book.” 

“That’s a pretty insightful observation. You’ll be a good addition to our group, I think, if you decide to come back.” Shiro doesn’t miss the slight blush rising to Keith’s cheeks. It’s cute.

“We’ll see,” he says. “But there’s a pretty good chance.” 

“Good to hear it,” Shiro says. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, where did you serve?” 

“Kuwait,” Keith replies, “then Iraq and Pakistan.” 

“Airforce?” 

Keith shakes his head. “Army.” 

“Oh, I thought… It kinda looked like you recognized me when you came in.” 

“I can spot a flyboy from 500 meters out,” Keith quips.

Shiro quirks an eyebrow. “That so, Jawa?” 

That makes Keith laugh, and Shiro probably shouldn’t be as proud of that as he is, and yet he already wants to do it again. The grin Keith gives him is just this side of mischievous. 

“Nah, I just had a moment when I saw you. It sounds dumb, but I guess I didn’t expect to see another vet at the meeting, especially given where it’s held, ya know?” 

“Yeah, I get it,” Shiro said. “When I was active, I tried to keep these two parts separate too, even though I knew none of my squad would really give a shit. But barracks are barracks.” 

“Yeah. And if anyone ever did find out and gave me shit, I could usually in good faith say I had no interest in their pasty ass.” He makes an obvious move to look Shiro up and down. “Can’t really say that with you.” 

Shiro cocks an eyebrow, but the bubbling feeling in his chest breaks past his lips as a light chuckle. “Oh really?” 

Keith grins back, arms crossed loosely as he balances his hip against the snack table, coffee completely abandoned. “Given the rest of you, I can almost guarantee ‘pasty’ would be the last adjective on my mind to describe your ass.”

The heat rises in Shiro’s cheeks as Keith gives him another once over. It’s been _so long_ since someone had so blatantly flirted with him, and Shiro is legitimately enjoying it, the give and take of the banter. It helps too that Keith is the prettiest thing on long legs Shiro has encountered in… awhile. Matt is going to give him so much shit for what he’s about to do. 

“Do you live in the Castro?” he asks. 

“Nah, I rent a cheap studio in Chinatown.” Keith replies. “It’s not great, but it’s something.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro can see a few teens enter the community room, chatting and laughing, though they instantly hush and retreat to loitering at the edge of the space when they see Shiro, probably thinking group hasn’t ended yet. Ryner has already finished putting up the chairs and also somehow cleared the snacks and coffee away without them noticing. 

Keith seems to realize the same just as Shiro does and grins ruefully. “Suppose we should probably let them have the room back,” he says. 

“There’s a cool bar nearby if you wanna grab a drink,” Shiro says. “Keep talking and stuff.” 

Keith’s grin curls deeper, and he pushes off the counter. “Lead the way, Big Guy.” 

The bar Shiro takes him to is nondescript on the outside. With identical slightly-faded brick facades, “CHE△T CODES” is nestled between a real estate agency and a kitschy beach gift shop on a small side street. As they step in though, Keith has to immediately pause to let his eyes adjust to the sudden dimness, the space lit by a mixture of neon halogen, flashing arcade game lights, and the backlight from the bar. There isn’t any music, per se, but the cacophony of theme music and background noise from the games is _just_ this side of tolerable. It’s slightly smoky, a little greasy, and Keith would have never in a million years walked in on his own. It’s perfect. 

They wind their way through the main section of games into the dinning area, and find a small high-top, both of them moving toward the one in the farthest corner out of habit. Shiro gives a tight smile when he realizes they’re both following the same instinct.

“Old habits,” he says. 

Keith shrugs it off easily as he slides into a seat, pushing the chair so that its back rests against the wall. “Honestly, of all the baggage to keep, table preference seems like the most tolerable.” 

Shiro barks out a laugh. “Perks of hyper-vigilance, I guess,” he says, settling into his seat as well. “Their pizza is good, if you want to split one.” He looks up at Keith again, eyeing him suspiciously. “Unless you’re the kind of heathen that puts fruit on pizza.” 

Keith pauses for a beat as he pretends to look over the beer list, as if they have anything other than the kind of piss-colored beer that comes in a plastic pitcher. “Tomato is a fruit,” he says blandly. 

The way Shiro’s nose wrinkles is possibly the second-most adorable thing Keith has ever seen in his life. It takes all of his substantially hard-won skill to keep a straight face as Shiro’s eyes narrow further and he leans forward. “You _are_ one of those monsters.” 

“Is that a deal-breaker?” Keith asks. 

Shiro purses his lips as he gives Keith a glare that is somehow simultaneously cosmically goofy with his flop of silver hair but at the same time--imagined in a different context--makes Keith’s toes curl. Keith almost worries with how long Shiro studies him, but he nods his head as if he’s decided something before sitting up again. 

“You’re cute enough to get a pass,” he announces. “As long as I am never subject to seeing, smelling, or eating it.” 

Keith can feel himself losing against the battle to keep a straight face as he leans in on his arm. “How magnanimous of you.” 

Shiro makes a show of straightening his shoulders. “Thank you.” 

He manages to hold the pose for a solid ten seconds before breaking down. Shiro’s laughter is full-bodied: he’s bent at the waist over the table, hand flat against its surface to keep his balance as he curls forward. Keith can’t help the smile it coaxes from him. Shiro even earns a quiet laugh from Keith for his antics, not that Shiro hears or sees it through his own amusement. 

Shortly after, their waitress comes by for their order. They get a pitcher of whatever is on tap and a large pizza to share. They go with the bar’s specialty: a “garbage pizza” which has whatever toppings the kitchen happened to have over-ordered the previous week and needs to be used before it goes bad. The waitress puts the order in and comes back with two cups and the first pitcher, telling them to flag her down or come up to the bar if they need another. Keith lifts his beer in mock salute after Shiro pours and passes him one. 

Keith tries to press down the feeling in his stomach when he earns a good-natured eye roll or a grin. He’s already pressing his luck with _whatever_ this is that’s developing between him and Shiro. The universe doesn’t usually allow him these kinds of things: nice things like lucky breaks or good relationships. He knows there’s only a small probability that it’ll last. 

But conversation just comes _so easily_ with Shiro, when with anyone else it feels like a village doctor pulling teeth that don’t actually need to be pulled. Shiro draws him in with an expansive gesture, and then puts him at ease with a well-placed grin. Keith relishes in Shiro’s deadpan, laissez faire sort of dark humor, and he softens under Shiro’s wistfulness and naked wonder when he talks about how he wanted to study space as a child, how it was part of the reason he became a pilot. To get closer to them, to get as close as possible. He’d even thought of applying to NASA before—well, before the obvious. 

To get them back to equilibrium, Keith quietly admits that he had always been drawn to the stars too. That it was something he shared with his Pops, before he passed. Keith doesn’t mention how and Shiro doesn’t press, but Keith talks about how expansive the sky seemed in the desert, especially to his younger self, and how his father taught him how to navigate by the stars to abate the fear. Nothing is quite as scary if you can navigate your way through it, Pops had said. 

Shiro gives Keith a quiet smile that seems partially for Keith and partially for someone far away. “Seems like a smart man,” he says. 

Keith hums, tapping his fingers against his glass. “He was.”

Sharing like this always makes him feel like he’s prying off a piece of himself as if in some sort of offering, a remuneration; but this is different. He’s not sure how he feels, but he doesn’t feel any lesser for having given Shiro a piece of himself. 

Shiro lifts his glass. “To smart men,” he says, grinning; but above that grin are soft, knowing eyes. 

Keith touches his glass to Shiro’s and downs the rest of his beer. He wipes the foam off the top of his lip. 

“You could still work for NASA I bet,” he says, returning his gaze to Shiro. “You seem pretty capable, and they must need more than just pilots.”

Shiro grins, but shrugs. “It wouldn’t be the same though, you know?” 

And oh how Keith does know. 

“Besides,” Shiro continues, “I’m pretty happy with what I’m doing now.” 

Keith’s eyebrows lift. “Which is?”

Shiro rubs the back of his neck. “Well, it’s a lot of things actually. But when I got back, I had some money that had just been sitting in an account since I’d been gone so I invested it in a friend’s tech start up.” Shiro just grins in the face of Keith’s quiet snort. “Yeah, I know. Tech Investor in California. But Pidge is great. You’d like them, I think. They design custom, highly-adaptive robotic limbs. Manufacturing is our highest-earning income stream, but our main objective is human prosthesis.”

“Like yours,” Keith says. 

Shiro nods, lifting his prosthetic arm and opening and closing his fingers. “Technically, I operate it by tensing and relaxing the muscles in my upper arm and shoulder, but it’s so intuitive for me it almost feels like I’m moving it with my mind, just like my flesh hand.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Keith says, more than half in awe of the sheer mechanical ingenuity that must be behind the thin shell of metal. He itches to take the paneling off and see what’s underneath. And to see what the arm is _truly_ capable of. He yanks his gaze away from thirsting over the prosthetic and back to Shiro’s face. He quirks an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair.

“So you’re independently wealthy, but you decided to use your money to fund a tech start-up to create highly-advanced robots for profit, but mainly to help injured vets. Okay, Tony Stark.” 

Shiro flushes dark pink. “I’ve always preferred Captain America,” he mutters. 

Keith snorts. “Of course you do. Nerd.” 

Shiro yelps in protest. “You brought up Iron Man first!” 

Keith shrugs, unrepentant. “Yeah. But you understood the reference. And I’m not the one who’s idea of a ‘cool bar’ is pretty much an arcade with booze.” 

Shiro pouts and Keith can’t believe he’s just as endeared with Shiro’s ridiculousness as he is turned on by his high-tech prosthetic. He caves far more easily than he cares to admit. 

“My nerdiness is a state secret,” he says, picking up his beer to hide his faint smile. “If you tell anyone, I might have to kill you.” 

He also doesn’t want to admit what Shiro’s rich laughter does to him. 

Shiro refills their cups and take a sip before looking at Keith again. “So, what do you do?”

And now it’s Keith’s turn to flush. It’s not that he’s ashamed of what he does. He does what he has to to survive, always has. But he also knows that people make (somewhat simplified but no less accurate) assumptions about him when they find out how he pays for his shitty studio apartment. 

“I, uh, I work at a club in Chinatown,” Keith says. 

“So, bartender?” 

“Sometimes,” Keith says, and then decides it’s not worth the energy to lie about this particular thing. “But mostly, I dance.” 

Shiro blinks, pink dusting across his cheeks again as he realizes what that “means,” and Keith watches in real time as the pieces slot into place for him. He waits for the other shoe to drop, but it never does. Shiro just grins, lopsided and bashful. 

“Cool,” he says, as if that’s all there is to it, and moves on, asking how Keith likes it, if he likes Chinatown, and his favorite restaurant near his place. 

Shiro is playful and brash in turns, but always endearingly sincere. Keith finds himself sharing other things with Shiro that he hasn’t told anyone else, things he wouldn’t share, even if he had anyone to share with. The idea shocks him in the middle of recounting the story of his previous support group meeting-turned-brawl where he said that he felt useless during his service and suggested that maybe they shouldn’t be involved in the Middle East at all, should have never gotten involved in the first place. 

Shiro catches his startled pause and glances up at him over his glass. Keith has a hard time placing the look in his gaze; it’s not pity or disapproval (not that Keith needs either), neither is it sympathy (almost as bad as pity) nor pride (Keith’s not exactly _proud_ of what he’d done). It’s a strange mixture of emotions, but what it seems to say is: “I understand.” 

Keith blinks and the look is gone. Shiro drains the rest of his beer and stands, setting his glass on the table, perhaps a little harder than he means from the resulting wobble of the cheap high top. 

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go play some of these games.” 

When Keith quirks an eyebrow at him, Shiro gives him a cocky grin. “Unless, that is, you don’t think you can beat my high scores.” 

Keith sees exactly what Shiro’s playing at, but—somehow—Keith can’t bring himself to get upset or defensive about it like he might have before. Instead, he feels himself standing and draining his own beer. He’s actually _excited_ about the prospect of playing some stupid arcade game with Shiro in this kitschy-themed bar and getting way too invested in the competition of it. 

“You’re on, Old Man,” he taunts. “Loser buys the next round.” 

Shiro squawks indignantly and tugs—hard but teasing—on Keith’s ponytail. “Just for that, I’m going to smoke you.” 

They play every game that catches Keith’s eye, all of them vying for his attention with bright lights and sounds. Keith kicks Shiro’s ass at _Primal Rage_ ; Shiro destroys him in _Mortal Kombat._ They pull even at _X-men Vs. Street Fighter_ and _The House of the Dead_ , though Shiro teases that never would have made it as far as they did if Keith didn’t keep saving Shiro’s virtual life _._ They play _The Punisher,_ and _Sunset Riders,_ and _Gunblade NY,_ and weirdly, Shiro is really good at Skeeball. Every time one of them loses, they pick up the next round, until they lose track and Shiro just starts a tab. After another race around the _Cruis’n USA_ track where Shiro _literally jumped a cliff_ to beat him, Keith slumps back in the uncomfortable plastic race car seat, faking a pout as Shiro does a ridiculous victory dance next to him, laughing, even at himself. He still grins like a smug teenage shit as he dials “SHI” into the leaderboard space that looks like a licence plate. 

“Ready to buy another round?” he teases, looking down at where Keith is slouched in the other driver’s seat. 

Keith makes his decision then. In the split second where the neon lights are playing off Shiro’s dark hair and he has a spark in his silver eyes that Keith wants to chase. He sets his mostly-empty glass down on the carpet and pushes himself up. 

“I have a better idea,” he says, just before he reaches to yank Shiro in by the t-shirt. 

Their mouths collide with much less finesse than Keith would prefer, but Shiro doesn’t jerk away, and in fact presses closer. Keith turns his head to get a better angle to lick into Shiro’s mouth, shamelessly taking advantage of Shiro’s faint gasp to press his tongue against the seam of his lips before breaking away. 

“Come on,” he says lowly, slipping out of the game chair and Shiro’s questing grasp. He doesn’t even have to look back to know Shiro is following, not really. It’s a heady sort of power Keith’s not sure he’s ever felt before. He feels it when Shiro catches up behind him, putting his hand on Keith’s hip and squeezing as they sneak into the men’s restroom. 

Keith barely feels it when his head bangs against the cheap aluminum of the stall door, too busy with Shiro’s insistent mouth on his, nipping back at him, only to haul Shiro back in, nails scratching into the short hair he finds at the nape of his neck. He swallows Shiro’s resulting groan, opening his mouth to bite at Shiro’s lower lip before soothing over it with his tongue. That’s the last moment he feels in control (was he ever in control, if he really thinks about it?), teasing Shiro’s lip between his teeth and looking up coquettishly through his lashes. 

Shiro is just so big, it’s _obscene_ , and it’s only made more obvious by the way he’s pressing against Keith. Forearm braced against the stall door, Shiro dominates Keith’s space. Shiro steals his mouth in another searing kiss, and Keith has to grab at Shiro’s shoulder to keep himself steady when Shiro forces room for his thigh between Keith’s legs, pressing Keith up onto his toes. Keith groans at the not-quite-satisfying friction of his crotch against Shiro’s, trying to arch his hips up as he seeks more contact, but he has no leverage like this.

Grabbing the top of the stall door, Keith hauls himself up enough to wrap his legs around Shiro’s waist, and Shiro’s arm immediately comes to support underneath his ass. Keith locks his ankles and _pulls._ The resulting roll of Shiro’s hips presses the sizable bulge in Shiro’s jeans against Keith’s ass and any remaining function is redirected straight to Keith’s dick. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hisses out, letting his head fall back with a slightly more muted bang.

Shiro chuckles against the underside of Keith’s jaw as he leaves a string of kisses down Keith’s throat. Keith can feel the vibrations of it. 

“Good ‘fuck’ or bad ‘fuck’?” he asks. 

“It’s a ‘I really want you to fucking fuck me, but we _will_ break this fucking door’ fuck,” Keith replies. 

Shiro laughs again. “That’s probably true,” he says, laying another kiss on Keith’s throat before teasing the skin near his collarbone. It’s so fucking hot how effortlessly Shiro is holding him aloft without batting an eye. Sure, Keith is supporting some of his own weight, but he knows he’s by no means “lightening” the load by much. That in combination with the marks Shiro is determinedly _not_ making is making it hard for Keith to think. 

Shiro glances up, corner of his mouth pulling up when Keith bites off a faint sound he refuses to call a whimper. “Should we slow down?” 

Keith takes a steadying breath and looks back at Shiro, reaching to comb the floof away from Shiro’s face. “Do you want to?” 

Shiro doesn’t hesitate. “No.” 

“Me either,” Keith says. The space to breathe clears Keith’s head some, but doesn’t negate any of his need. “How far away is your place?” 

“Not too far,” Shiro says, “but do you want to go back out there like this?” 

Keith cocks an eyebrow. “Why not?” 

“People, the waitress, will see.” 

“So? It’s not like she doesn’t already know what we’re up to in here. This is not even close to the worst thing she’s seen this week even, I’d bet.” He glances down at the frankly impressive bulge in Shiro’s jeans and his lips twitch in a smirk. “Not by a long shot.” 

Shiro flushes a pretty dark rose color and Keith laughs, earning him an ineffectual nip when Shiro hides his face in Keith’s neck. 

Keith pets his hair. “Takashi Shirogane, is this the first time you’ve made out with someone in a public bathroom?”

“Shut up,” Shiro grumbles. “I’ll drop you. I only have one arm, you know.” 

Keith snickers and kisses the crown of Shiro’s head before unwrapping his legs from Shiro’s waist, lowering himself to the ground, but staying in the circle of Shiro’s arms. He leans up to kiss Shiro again, but pulls back before they can get carried away again. 

“You don’t want to walk out there with a hard-on?” he whispers against Shiro’s mouth. “How about I suck you off—get on my knees in this dirty bathroom for you—and then you can take me home and fuck me into your matress like a proper gentleman. How does that sound?” 

“Fuck, Keith,” Shiro groans, reeling Keith in for another kiss, tangling his fingers in Keith’s hair before pushing him down onto his knees. 

Keith snickers, going easily and glancing up as he runs his hands over Shiro’s stomach as he pushes his shirt up. “Is that a good ‘fuck’ or a bad ‘fuck’?” 

“You’re a fucking menace,” Shiro snarks back, but without any real heat. 

Keith leans in to nibble on the hard skin of Shiro’s abs. “You didn’t answer the question though.” 

“Yes,” Shiro hisses out, muscles jumping under Keith’s mouth. “Please,” he adds after another beat. 

Keith snickers quietly. “Such a gentleman,” he teases, but leans in and makes quick work of the fastenings of Shiro’s jeans before peeling them away. He glances up again, a playful smirk tugging at his mouth. “Be as loud as you want, but if the waitress hears you, she’ll know what kind of ‘prize’ you’re getting.” 

“Little bit of an exhibitionist, huh?” Shiro asks. 

Keith shrugs with faux delicacy. “Maybe,” he says, grinning up at Shiro a little more before turning back to his task. Shiro’s snort turns into a low moan when Keith leans in and mouths at the bulge of Shiro’s dick through his underwear, soaking the fabric. The fingers in Keith’s hair tighten. 

“Good to know,” Shiro replies breathlessly. 

Keith snickers before tugging Shiro’s boxers down just enough for his cock to spring free. He’s only half hard and already he’s huge, fat and thickening further under Keith’s heated gaze. He his hand around it and give a few experimental tugs. Where he’s widest at the base, Keith’s fingers can’t quite touch. _Holy. Fuck._ Keith licks a wide stripe along the bottom of its length before leaning back to wrestle a condom out of his pocket. He tears it open with his teeth and plucks at the end before rolling it down Shiro’s length. Shiro grunts above him at the tighter-than-average fit, and Keith tries and fails to let that thought worm its way into his hindbrain. 

Keith gives him a few more enamored pulls before he abandons the stroking to take Shiro to the root, swallowing around the intrusion as Shiro hits the back of his throat. The fingers in his hair vanish and Keith glances up briefly to see Shiro biting his knuckles hard enough to turn the skin white. 

“Holy-fucking-shit Keith,” Shiro hisses. “You can’t just—” 

Keith quirks an eyebrow up at him and takes a breath through his nose before he hollows out his cheeks and sucks _hard_. Above him, Shiro’s hand bangs against the stall door as he bows forward. 

“ _Fuck. Keith._ ” 

Keith pulls out every dirty trick he knows to get Shiro off as fast as possible, impatient to get out of this grimy bathroom and back to Shiro’s apartment so the other man can fuck him senseless. He wants Shiro to cum in his ass, wants his asshole to be dripping with it, and then wants Shiro to shove the whole mess back into him again. He wants Shiro to fuck him into incoherency, and then once more just because he can. He wants so much he _burns_ with it and he moans around the cock in his mouth, feeling Shiro shudder from the vibration of it. He pops off Shiro suddenly and wipes the spit from his chin. 

“Fuck my mouth,” he said, his voice already a rasp, “because you have sixty seconds before I’m dragging you out of here, hard on or no.” 

“You wouldn’t,” Shiro challenges. 

Keith gives him a flat look before manipulating their positions so that Shiro is leaning against the painted cinder block and his hand is in Keith’s hair again. “Fifty seconds.” 

“Shit,” Shiro curses lowly, gripping at Keith’s hair before guiding Keith’s mouth back to his cock.

Keith opens his mouth wide when the head presses against his lips and sinks in a little way before relaxing his jaw. Shiro gives his hips a few experimental rolls, using his grip on Keith’s hair to move Keith’s mouth along his dick until he finds his rhythm. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fucking shit. Holy hell, Keith,” Shiro babbles, stream-of-conscious. He thrusts shallowly as he pets Keith’s bangs back and readjusts his grip in Keith’s hair. Keith glances up at him through his eyelashes and he hears Shiro’s sharp intake of breath. 

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, “look at you. You look so fucking good taking my cock like this. You’re fucking perfect.” 

Dirty talk doesn’t usually do it for Keith, but the pet name sends him, eyes fluttering shut as he moans and takes a few more inches just as Shiro thrusts in and he gags on Shiro’s cock, grip turned brutal on Shiro’s thighs so he can’t jerk back. His only warning is a particularly sharp tug on his hair before Shiro is coming. He gasps when Shiro tugs him off and lets go of his hair. He _absolutely does not_ whine from the loss. It takes a few swallows before Keith can even consider speech, but he pats Shiro’s calf from where he is on the ground. 

“Good job,” he croaks. “Twenty seconds to spare.” 

Shiro groans above him. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters. 

Keith wheezes a laugh and grins up at him. “But what a way to go.” 

Keith adjusts and slips out of the bathroom to toss the condom and leave cash for their bill and a generous tip. He collects his helmet before rescuing Shiro, still hiding in the bathroom. Keith grins as he takes Shiro’s hand and they sneak out the back door. Once outside, Keith tugs him close to steal a kiss. 

“How far to your place?” 

Shiro smiles against his mouth. “Not far,” he says. 

He kisses Keith once more before pulling away and tugging Keith in the direction of his apartment. Keith tucks himself into Shiro’s side, sliding his hand into the back pocket of Shiro’s jeans and giving his ass an appreciative squeeze. Shiro snorts and glances at him, lifting his eyebrows, but Keith, unrepentant, grins back at him. What would normally be a five minute walk takes them closer to twenty as the pair get distracted in each other, stumbling and pulling each other into shadowed corners or the alley between houses for handsy make-out breaks. 

Eventually, they get to the flat Shiro rents, a converted Victorian-style house complete with a colorful facade and expansive bay windows. Shiro leads him through the wrought iron gate and a dark arch, covered in greenery, up the back steps to his landing. Keith busies himself with touching while he waits for Shiro to let them in, hands slipping under his shirt and along the planes of his stomach and chest. When they finally get inside, Keith wastes no time dropping his helmet by the door and kicking off his shoes, dropping his jacket on top of it all before he moves farther into the apartment, tugging his t-shirt over his head as he goes. Keith’s already half-undressed, while Shiro’s still taking off his shoes and hanging his coat in the closet. 

Keith bends himself over the arm of the couch, making sure Shiro has a good view of his ass, and grins when he hears Shiro’s sharp intake of breath.

“Like what you see?” he asks, still grinning and looking at Shiro over his shoulder. 

Shiro comes up behind him and Keith shimmies his hips. It’s mostly meant as a tease, and he expects Shiro to laugh. He doesn’t expect the near-reverent drag of Shiro’s hand along his ass and up his side before Shiro leans in to drop a kiss on the back of his neck. 

“I do,” Shiro says, brushing Keith’s hair out of the way as he kisses down his spine. Keith barely holds in the small punched-out noise he makes as Shiro strokes down his sides and presses into his space. When Keith arches back, Shiro’s weight is hot against his bare back, and he can feel Shiro’s monster cock against his ass. 

“Fuck,” he breathes out. 

Shiro does chuckle at that. “Patience,” he replies, moving Keith’s hair off his neck and over his shoulder to leave a string of kisses and gentle nips.

He kisses the knots of Keith’s spine as he reaches around to peel Keith’s jeans off his hips and reveal his ass, pushing the fabric down to his ankles until Keith can kick them away. He’s now totally naked in Shiro’s bright living room, shoving himself face-first into the cushions and rutting against the arm of the couch. He feels the heat of the flush that’s spreading down his chest. 

Shiro’s fingers skate over the bare skin of Keith’s side, his hips, his ass, the insides of his thighs. He drops a kiss on the small of Keith’s back before sliding to his knees, kneading the flesh under his palm before he pulls Keith’s ass cheeks apart. Keith feels the ghost of breath over his hole. 

“May I?” Shiro asks, and Keith whimpers back, nodding furiously. 

At first it’s just little kisses and prods with the tip of his tongue. But the gentleness is quickly replaced by greedy teeth and an eager tongue as Shiro makes a sloppy mess of him. Keith fists his hand into the couch cushions and sings praises to Shiro’s mouth into the fabric. The best part of it, Keith isn’t even faking his pleasure like he might for a John. Shiro is a _genius_ with his tongue, interspersing licks and gentle bites with ruthless spears of his tongue with enough randomness for Keith to lose his damn mind. 

Keith must squirm too much though because Shiro pulls back, causing Keith to let out a pitiful whine. 

“Give me your hands,” Shiro demands. 

Keith puts both arms together behind him and Shiro grabs hold. His one hand easily wraps around both Keith’s wrists and _fuck_ if that’s not the hottest thing Keith’s learned about the man so far. Shiro returns to reducing him to a babbling mess with his mouth, moaning and whimpering as he tries to push his hips insistently back against Shiro’s hungry mouth since Shiro’s grip on his wrists won’t let him hump against the couch anymore. 

“Fuck, Shiro… Shiro, Shiro. Shiro, shiro, shiro _shiro!”_

Shiro hums and squeezes the handful of Keith’s ass before he pulls back. “Are you close already?” he asks, petting his flank. 

Keith shivers and rolls his shoulders, taking deep breaths to pull himself away from the edge. “I’m good,” he breathes. 

He feels the warm huff of Shiro’s breath. “Yes, you are,” he says. 

The surprise praise sends a zing of pleasure up Keith’s spine. But before he has a moment to question it, there’s a sharp sting of a bite to his ass cheek and he gasps like it was a smack, groaning as he lets his head hang forward again. Shiro rubs his thumb against the veins of Keith’s wrist as he leaves a trail of love bites on his ass and thighs. He releases Keith’s wrists suddenly in favor of Keith’s waist and flips him over. 

“Look at you,” he breathes, looking down at Keith, flushed cock bobbing against and dripping precome onto his stomach. He wraps his fingers around Keith and gives him a few slow pulls, and Keith whines, arching up into Shiro’s space and clawing at his shoulders. 

“Need you,” he gasps. “Now.” 

Shiro leans in to cut Keith off with a kiss, nearly bending him in half to get to his mouth. “Shh... I’ve got you.” He kisses Keith again before pulling away, hushing Keith when he makes a desperate noise. He wastes no time stripping out of his own jeans and climbing onto the couch, pulling Keith into his lap, shifting so he can get his flesh hand lined up with Keith’s hole. 

Keith squirms. “No,” he whines. “Other hand.” 

Shiro hesitates. “You sure?” 

“Yes,” Keith says, wiggling and grinding his hips back against Shiro’s. 

“Okay, okay,” Shiro soothes, kissing Keith’s neck and then his shoulder. He readjusts and pushes the first of his prosthetic fingers in slowly. So slowly. Keith gnaws on his lip and leans back against Shiro’s broad chest, panting. Even just one of Shiro’s metal fingers is as much as two of Keith’s, and he whines high in his throat as Shiro starts to stroke inside, searching out the sensitive spots that will light Keith up like a fucking Christmas tree. When he’s loose enough, Shiro presses a second finger in beside the first, shifting Keith more securely in his lap, one large hand spanning the small of his back and hip, and Keith’s leg hooked in the crook of his other elbow. Keith moans as the second finger slides in, shifting to grip at Shiro’s shoulders. 

“Fuck, yes. Yes, yes, yes. _More._ ” 

Shiro starts off slow, methodical, stroking and searching until he finds the bundle of nerves that is Keith’s prostate, and Keith screams, fisting his hand against the back of Shiro’s neck and digging his nails into the meat of his shoulder. Shiro continues to aim for it, thrusting his fingers in and out, and nailing the sensitive spot relentlessly. The added sensation of Shiro’s gaze over his shoulder, watching as Keith falls apart, sends Keith higher. Tears prick the corners of his eyes as he feels his ab muscles tighten. He digs his fingers harder into Shiro’s shoulder. 

“ _More,_ ” he demands, not caring about how hoarse his voice sounds. 

Shiro hesitates at first, but at Keith’s whine he noses into Keith’s temple and pulls his two penetrating fingers back a little to add a third. Shiro’s barely pressed in past the second knuckle when Keith’s whole body tenses, and he curls into the heat of Shiro’s chest, coming all over himself with a silent scream. 

Keith comes back to himself with Shiro rubbing the small of his back and dropping kisses into his mussed-up hair. Keith sniffs quietly and rubs at the dried tear tracks on his face before glancing up at Shiro, who smiles warmly back down at him. 

“There you are,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss the bridge of Keith’s nose before capturing Keith’s mouth in a soft press. Keith chases his mouth when Shiro pulls back, earning a spine-melting chuckle. Shiro doesn’t pull away far. Only enough to rest his forehead against Keith’s. 

“That was…” 

“Yeah,” Keith breathes. He doesn’t have words either. His mood crashes though when he glances down. 

“You didn’t get off,” he says, wincing at the near-accusation in his voice. 

Shiro just laughs. “It’s alright,” he says. “You could get me off with your mouth again. I— uh. I liked that.” He looks up shyly at Keith. This mountain of a man that _just got Keith off untouched,_ looks shy. 

Shiro must misinterpret his look because his shoulders fall, if only minutely, and he reaches for his cock to stroke himself off. At that, Keith huffs and knocks Shiro’s hand away. 

Shifting to straddle Shiro’s massive thighs, Keith scoots so that he’s better positioned. He tugs on the shoulder of Shiro’s t-shirt, his hand still fisted in the fabric. Shiro tenses, and Keith lets go immediately, but Shiro still ducks his head. 

“Sorry… I’m… I’m a mess under there,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you mind if I leave it on...?” 

The genuine undercurrent of resigned disappointment makes something hot rise in Keith’s throat. He pets Shiro’s shirt back into place and drops a kiss on the bridge of Shiro’s nose, just over his scar, almost aggressively. 

“Don’t you dare be sorry,” he says. “Whatever makes you comfortable is perfectly fine.” 

The shy, grateful smile Shiro gives him nearly breaks his damn heart. He kisses Shiro again just as an excuse to close his eyes as he presses his hips into Shiro’s, his cock already making its interest in a second round known. 

“Now, where are your condoms? The one from the arcade wasn’t my last, but it didn’t seem very comfortable for you.” 

Shiro’s cheeks flame even darker, but he mumbles something about his bathroom medicine cabinet into Keith’s shoulder. Keith can’t help but grin and drops an amused little kiss on the top of Shiro’s floof before climbing off his lap to retrieve what is hopefully a whole box from the bathroom.

He takes a moment to appreciate the marks Shiro left on his ass and thighs in the bathroom mirror as he retrieves his target and the bottle of lube next to it before returning to the living room. 

Shiro startles when Keith slips back into his lap, having tipped his head onto the back of the couch while Keith was gone. Shiro’s hands immediately return to Keith’s waist though and squeeze. Keith hums and grinds down, torturously slow. Shiro’s softened a little in the interim, but Keith isn’t concerned. A low simmer has settled under Keith’s skin and Keith takes a moment to luxuriate in it, cupping Shiro’s jaw as he leans in to kiss him, deep and slow. Shiro opens up to him beautifully, arching into Keith and sliding his large hands up Keith’s back. 

After a few unhurried kisses, Keith drops his hand between them again, wrapping his fingers around Shiro’s dick for a few quick pulls before he opens the new condom and rolls it onto him. He dribbles the lube over it, grinning as he watches it drip down the thin latex. Dropping the bottle onto the floor, Keith scoots forward on his knees, lifting up and reaching back to line Shiro up with his hole. 

Shiro’s hand settles on the curve of his back, rubbing small circles with his thumb. 

“Go slow,” he says. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

Keith grins. “Such a gentleman,” he teases, grinning more when Shiro playfully swats at his ass. “Don’t worry, big guy. It’s my turn to take care of you.” 

Shiro huffs and looks like he’s about to make a comment, but Keith chooses that moment to drop down, teasing the head of Shiro’s cock against the edge of his hole, letting it catch and slip. 

Shiro’s head drops back as he groans. “Brat,” he breathes out. 

Keith snickers and does it again, just to prove Shiro right before planting his knees a bit firmer and reaching back to guide Shiro in. He lets out a breathy moan as the head and the first inch slide in. Keith is tempted to drop his weight, to feel the burn of that comes with just a touch too much, too fast. It might even be worth the protesting squawk Shiro will make. Maybe next time, Keith thinks, the thought of a next time making his insides squirm pleasantly. 

He continues to slowly work Shiro into him, panting softly and biting his lip to keep the slow pace. Shiro’s grip tightens on his back, but he holds himself so still for Keith, Keith can’t help but be impressed. 

“Fuck...” he breathes out when he’s about half way. Already, he feels so full, and he tells Shiro so. Shiro loosens his grip to rub Keith’s back, and Keith arches into it. 

“Don’t force it, baby,” he murmurs. 

Keith’s rational brain knows Shiro doesn’t mean it as a challenge, but Keith’s eyes narrow anyway. Before Shiro can stop him, Keith straightens and drops to take the rest of Shiro’s cock in one go, groaning at the pleasant sting of his balls smacking into Shiro’s thighs. He interrupts Shiro’s squawk of protest with a biting kiss, sucking Shiro’s bottom lip into his mouth and sinking his teeth into it. 

“I can take whatever you can give, Shirogane,” he growls, grinding his hips down before readjusting his grip on Shiro’s shoulders in order to lift and drop himself on the other man’s massive cock, riding him like his life depends on it.

Barring his forearm against Shiro’s chest keeps Shiro pressed into the couch as Keith rides him, and he uses his knees to pin Shiro’s hips in place. Shiro doesn’t even try to break the hold, looking overwhelmed as Keith rides him hard and fast. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” Keith breathes. “I’m so fucking full. You fill me so well, Shiro.” 

Shiro whimpers, turning his head away as he bites his lip and flushes. The way Shiro’s fingers tighten on Keith’s back make him pause, and Shiro whines. Keith pets Shiro’s sweaty bangs back, curling his fingers in the strands to tug Shiro’s head up. Shiro’s eyes flutter shut. 

“Look at me,” Keith demands. 

Shiro’s eyes snap open, gaze roaming until it locks with Keith’s. Shiro tries to glance away while Keith studies him until Keith tugs on his bangs. 

“Good boy,” Keith coos when Shiro catches and maintains his gaze. 

Shiro flushes darker, making Keith’s grin curl deeper. Keith keeps his hand in Shiro’s hair as he kisses the bridge of Shiro’s nose, grinding his hips down. 

“You like that?” Keith says lowly. “You like being told you’re good? Or do you just like being good _for me_?” 

“Keith...” Shiro squirms under his gaze, but unwilling to break it again. 

“You’re so fucking good, Shiro. So fucking gorgeous like this, pliant and breathless underneath me.”

“ _Keith!_ ” Shiro whines. 

Keith can feel Shiro’s thighs tense and Keith begins moving again, rolling his hips into Shiro’s. He wraps his arms around Shiro’s neck. 

“Come on, Shiro,” Keith purrs. “Be a good boy and come for me.” 

“ _Fuck_.” Shiro thrusts up, movements becoming erratic as he tips over the edge, Keith following quickly behind for the second time of the night when he gets his hand around himself, getting come all over his chest and Shiro’s shirt. 

Keith drags his fingers through his own come, smearing it into his skin before bringing his hand up to lick the mess up, snickering when Shiro groans and knocks his head against the back of the couch. 

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Shiro mutters. 

“Did I wear you out, Old Man?” Keith teases, letting out a yelp and a laugh when Shiro picks him up and walks them into the bedroom. 

He drops Keith unceremoniously into the sheets so that Keith bounces a little. “Stay,” he says.

Keith flips off Shiro’s back for commanding him like a dog as Shiro walks toward the ensuite bathroom, but settles into sheets that smell heavily of Shiro. He doesn’t mean it— really he should grab his clothes and head home— but he startles from a light doze when Shiro returns in a fresh shirt and sleep pants with a warm washcloth. 

“I’m the Old Man, huh?” Shiro teases. 

“Fuck you,” Keith grumbles sleepily, limbs easily manipulated however Shiro needs them before he tosses the dirty cloth away. 

“Maybe next time,” Shiro chuckles. 

“Promise?” Keith finds himself teasing back, though the quip has to fight its way through a yawn. 

He’s not usually sleepy like this after sex, doesn’t stay for cuddling and pillow talk for most people (unless they’re paying extra for it). But as the afterglow starts to fade into something else, still warm and sated, deep in his muscles, Keith finds himself fighting another yawn. 

He pushes himself up on his elbow. “Mm, I should head home.” 

Shiro settles in next to him, lifting his flesh arm, having removed his prosthetic for the night. “Stay?” 

He really shouldn’t, Keith knows, but he finds himself drawn into the warmth that is Shiro, settling into Shiro’s chest as he draws the comforter over them. 

_Just once can’t hurt,_ Keith reasons as he drifts off, but even his half-dozing brain recognizes it for the self-deluding lie it is. 

Keith wakes to the smell of coffee and bacon. He’s tucked in Shiro’s comforter, drooling on a pillow clutched tightly to his chest. _Great. Very sexy, Kogane,_ Keith thinks as he wipes the remaining spit from his face and finds one of Shiro’s shirts to throw on before heading out of the bedroom to investigate the smell of breakfast. 

In the kitchen, he finds Shiro bent over the stove, flipping eggs in one pan and frying bacon in another to add to what looks like an already full plate on the counter, which is next to a plate stacked with pancakes, next to another with fried ham, tofu, and what Keith is pretty sure is pineapple. There’s a rice cooker bubbling happily on the counter, and a bowl of hash browns, perfectly golden. There’s a ping of the toaster that makes Shiro jump and scramble to add the fresh pieces to the leaning tower he has started. 

“You expecting company?” Keith asks, announcing his presence and making Shiro wheel around, wielding a spatula guiltily. 

“Yes! I mean, no! No one else. I mean... Uh... I hope you’re hungry?” 

Keith snorts and ambles his way past the five juice options for the coffee pot. Shiro helpfully grabs a mug down for him and nudges a tray of sugar and cream pots toward him. 

Keith leans his hip against the counter and looks back at Shiro as he sips his black coffee, reveling in his first sip. “Are you always this ambitious in the mornings?” he asks.

“I, uh… panicked…?” Shiro rubs the back of his neck, turning to switch off the cook top and move the food toward the small, over-full kitchen table. “I don’t usually do this.” 

Keith quirks an eyebrow. “Make breakfast?”

Shiro huffs a small laugh and flicks a piece of shredded potato at him. “No, brat. I don’t usually, ya know... put out on a first date.” 

Keith takes a long sip of coffee. “Oh.” _Don’t jump to conclusions,_ Keith tells himself, swallowing his own sudden nerves in favor of reason. _He doesn’t know._

“I’m not like a prude or whatever,” Shiro bulldozes on, “but between being on base where ‘dating’ wasn’t exactly a _thing_ and then after with this.” Shiro wiggles his prosthetic. “There hasn’t been anyone interested in ‘dating’ at all...”

Keith snorts. “I find it hard to believe that no one has been interested in dating you. I mean, just look at you,” Keith says, waving at his… well, everything. 

Shiro’s eyebrows furrow and he crosses his arms. “Well, believe it,” he says tersely. 

“What, they let an honestly rad-as-hell metal arm keep them from those biceps and thighs? Not to mention that ass.” _Or his smile, his eyes, his laugh, his kindness._ Keith needs to stop that train of thought before it gets even further away from him. “Idiots, all of them,” he concludes.

Shiro huffs, but Keith sees the faint blush dusting across his nose. “Yeah, well… Regardless, I don’t usually do… this.”

Keith lets out the breath he was holding, fidgets with his coffee cup. “Listen, Shiro. If you’re worried about me judging you for having sex ‘too soon’ or whatever, don’t. I’m not one to judge people based on that. Even if I was, I really wouldn’t have a leg to stand on, since I have something of a reputation myself.” 

Shiro blinks at him and flushes darker. “Oh?” he squeaks. 

Keith snorts. He shrugs, faux-careless. “I cruise the park sometimes to make ends meet,” he says. “Honestly, I’m a little surprised you didn’t already know. You’re not _quite_ my normal type, but close.” 

“Oh?” Shiro says again, more confident this time. “And what type is that?” 

Keith shrugs again, looser now. “Bigger.” His smirk is lightning quick. “Older.” 

Shiro lets out a snort of laughter and tosses another bit of breakfast at him. Keith catches the crust of toast and pops it in his mouth, grinning. 

“Punk,” Shiro laughs. “I’ll have you know I’m only seven and a half.” 

Both of Keith’s eyebrows lift past his bangs. “Excuse me?” 

Shiro grins smugly. “I’m seven and a half,” he says again. “My birthday only comes once every four years.” 

Keith snorts and shakes his head. “A leap year joke. Cute.” 

Shiro grins more. “I try.” 

Keith shakes his head. He’s still smiling like an idiot though. He glances up at Shiro through his bangs. “We’re good?” he asks. “I mean, I can’t really promise exclusivity or that I’ll stop cruising but... I had fun last night. A lot of fun.” 

“Yeah,” Shiro says. “Me too.” He chews on his bottom lip, and Keith has the dual sensation of heat rising from the press of Shiro’s teeth into his plush lip and the sinking in his stomach from the concern in the action.

“Do you have to do it often?” Shiro asks. “Cruise, I mean.” After an awkward beat, he hurries to add. “Not that I’m judging. Or saying you can’t sleep with whoever you want or whatever. I’m just worried about you, as like, a friend.” 

Keith lets out a breathless little laugh. It’s been a _long time_ since anyone’s expressed concern over his safety. “I’m safe, Shiro. I promise. I use protection whenever I do it, and I have a small-ish group of regulars I tend to stick to. Nobody’s dangerous or violent, and if they ever were, I can protect myself. I’m pretty choosy about who I sleep with for a professional slut.” 

Shiro’s cheeks burn darker. “Oh, okay.” He clears his throat some, but smiles at Keith, just as dazzling as all his previous smiles before he knew that Keith was a sometimes-prostitute. “Then yeah, we’re good. Great, even. And, if you want, I’d like hanging out with you more. I’d like that a lot.” 

Keith feels himself smiling back. “Me too, Shiro.” 

“Great!” Shiro says, expression brightening. “Let’s eat some of this ridiculous anxiety breakfast then so it doesn’t go to waste.” 

Keith laughs and shakes his head a little, a strangely effervescent feeling building in him, but brings the coffee pot over to the table as he joins Shiro at the table to help him eat through the massive amount of breakfast food. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/tea_an_books).


End file.
